


Three Christmas Eves

by luckie_dee



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Fluff, Holidays, Light Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-17
Updated: 2016-12-17
Packaged: 2018-09-09 07:00:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,358
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8880424
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/luckie_dee/pseuds/luckie_dee
Summary: The first three Christmas Eves that Kent Parson spends with Alexei Mashkov.





	1. The First One

**Author's Note:**

  * For [karfishylicious](https://archiveofourown.org/users/karfishylicious/gifts).



> **Warnings:** references to various sexual activities and alcohol use, light angst but also cheese and fluff, and at least one dick joke and lots of swearing (thanks Kent)
> 
>  **Author's Note:** written for the 2016 Swawesome Santa for [karfishylicious](http://archiveofourown.org/users/karfishylicious/pseuds/karfishylicious). Prompt was first Christmas together, but instead, I wrote the first three Christmas Eves. I hope you enjoy! Many thanks for the outstanding beta to [Alianne](http://alianne.tumblr.com/) and [Laura](http://omghelloitslbo.tumblr.com/). Thank you both and happy holidays to all! ♥

Spending Christmas alone hadn’t exactly been Kent’s plan, but by the time he’s taking the ice for the last game before the holiday break, it’s all he has to look forward to.

He doesn’t really give a shit; it’s not like he subscribes to the religious side of things, and it’s his own fault that he won’t be seeing his family. His sister and her boyfriend had decided months ago to fuck off somewhere between Christmas and New Year’s — the mountains? Maine? Somewhere with a metric fuckton of snow anyway. Kent doesn't keep close tabs on his sister; he and Dani love each other, but they love each other even more when they don’t talk often. He knows she’s hoping to come back engaged, and he’ll be happy for her if she does. In any case, with her already planning to be gone, Kent had taken the opportunity to send his parents on the holiday tour of Europe they’d always wanted to take.

It leaves him with no concrete plans for the day, but whatever. He’ll stay in with a bottle of something and watch cheesy Christmas movies with Kit, or he’ll hit the Strip, or who knows what. He’ll figure out something. There’s always something to do in Vegas, even on Christmas Day. It’s not a big deal.

He’s feeling a little less enthusiastic about it after a hard-fought, 4-2 loss to the Falcs on December 23rd. Zimms pays him no attention, just like he’s done for the past year and a half, and Kent pretends that it doesn’t bother him, just like _he’s_ been doing for the past year and a half. It all puts an extra damper on things.

Despite the fact that there’s not much reason to celebrate, a bunch of the guys are planning on going out after the game to take advantage of the rare gift that is a string of unscheduled days. Kent begs off, claiming he’s sore from multiple hard checks into the boards. That part isn’t a lie — the Falcs always seem to have it out for him, especially Mashkov. He’d been responsible for several bruising hits, and after each one, he’d glared right at Kent, their eyes locking through their visors. Kent doesn't need to look at ESPN or social media to know that the the cameras had captured it, and that the media had eaten it up. Everyone thinks that they hate each other’s guts.

That was true last season, and the ones before it. This year, it’s different.

Mashkov could still hate his guts, Kent supposes. He could still loathe Kent’s very existence but think that Kent’s a good lay. And if that's Mashkov's opinion, he's fucking right.

It’s still pretty shocking that it’s happening at all, whenever Kent stops to think about it, which he usually doesn’t. The first time had been at the destination wedding of one of Kent’s teammates, a guy who had coincidentally started his career with the Falcs. Of course, he’s still good enough friends with Mashkov that Mashkov had been invited, because Mashkov is friends with fucking everyone (except Kent, of course). It had been a strange extra-long weekend at a beachside resort in Hawaii, days of barely concealed hostility that morphed in the hot sun and culminated in Mashkov's bed. More than once.

Kent had largely chalked it up to heatstroke and alcohol... the first time. The fact that it happened on three other occasions before they boarded their respective flights home was harder to explain away.

It had just been another hookup, Kent had tried to tell himself. A fucking weird one, but nothing more, nothing less, and it certainly didn't _matter_. He'd upped his not-exactly-following-the-Falcs-but-kind-of-obsessively-following-the-Falcs, but he justified it because they were becoming more serious competition for the Cup. Whatever the reason, he'd started looking at Mashkov's stat line in addition to Jack's, and he'd felt weird about it.

And then history, as they say, repeated itself. Once after an NHLPA charity bowling event, and again when they were both in New York City (the Aces playing the Islanders while the Falcs took on the Rangers). By then, they were sparring on Twitter and had each other’s phone numbers.

Kent’s not exactly sure what’s happening, but he’s more than willing to roll with it. He feels comfortable enough with whatever it is that when he wakes up late the morning after the game to see an uproar on every social media platform about the two feet of snow currently being deposited along the Eastern seaboard, he fires off a text without thinking much of it: _u make it home ok?_

He’s not expecting a quick answer, but he gets one anyway. _Not home_ , Mashkov replies. _Still here._

Kent furrows his brow. _here here? like in vegas?_

 _No, other here_ , Mashkov fires back, and Kent rolls his eyes.

To: Alex M  
_U didn’t tell me?_

From: Alex M  
_Not plan on staying_  
_No flight yesterday so I stay in hotel_  
_Fly to dallas monday_

To: Alex M  
_want some company?_

Kent hadn’t exactly planned to send that either, but what the hell. It’s Christmas Eve and he couldn’t be at looser ends. There are certainly worse ways to spend a holiday.

From: Alex M  
_You not with family?_

To: Alex M  
_nope, all by my lonesome_

From: Alex M  
_Should not be alone for holiday_

To: Alex M  
_neither should you. so i'll come over later. ok?_

From: Alex M  
_Very ok_

Kent smirks. They set a time, and Kent goes about the next few hours with a low-level buzz in his veins. It’s there when he eats, it’s there when he works out, it’s there when he showers. It ramps up when he gets dressed, carefully casual for the Las Vegas-cool fifty-five degree weather. Clothes that show off his body, but won’t be too difficult to get off.

He climbs into his car at four-thirty in the afternoon.

*

Kent may be out, but Mashkov isn’t, and there’s no reason to broadcast the fact that they’re fucking either way, so when Kent shows up at the hotel, he circles the parking lot once, then pulls into a spot and idles. Maskov jogs over a few seconds later, when it’s clear there’s no one around to see, and slips a key card through the window. “Three-oh-seven,” he says with a grin and a wink, and Kent feels heat prickle across his abdomen, just from that. He nods, smiles wickedly in return, and drives away.

He’s back about ten minutes later, and this time he tucks his truck away around the corner from the main entrance. He uses the key card to enter through a side door, and counts himself lucky that he encounters no one as he hurries up a side stairwell to the third floor. There’s a moment of panic when repeated efforts to unlock room 307 only produce a flashing red light — _fucking key cards_ — but just when Kent’s really starting to sweat, the door opens and he hurries through.

Inside, Mashkov is on his feet and halfway across the room, probably in response to Kent’s fumbling. He’s barefoot in track pants and a t-shirt, and his hair is damp and rumpled. “Fancy to see you here,” he says, and the door clicks shut.

“Hey,” Kent grunts as he tosses the key card onto the low table in front of the loveseat and looks around. “Nice digs,” he comments. They’re not; he’s seen approximately a thousand such hotel rooms in his life.

Mashkov shrugs. “Is okay,” he says. Then he adds, his voice going playful, “I guess hotels have gold plated toilet when you travel. Only best for Aces captain.”

“With diamonds on the sink,” Kent agrees gamely. He strolls farther into the room. “Good game yesterday.”

“Of course is good game. We win.” Mashkov shoots him a mischievous, challenging look. “I check you a lot.”

The competitive streak in Kent flares hot, and he narrows his eyes briefly. “Yeah, well, we’ll get you next time.” He pauses, changes tack, lets his voice dip into flirtation. “Besides, if you want to touch me, all you have to do is ask.”

Mashkov nods, his lips still curling up. “I ask.”

The moment is a little awkward: they’re still several feet apart, and Kent’s only been in the room for approximately a minute and a half. But hey, he’s not really here for conversation, and the only way to get past the weirdness is to push through it, so he walks right over and fists Mashkov’s shirt while Mashkov grabs his face, his hip, and they dive into a kiss that’s bruising from the start. Maskhov tastes like mouthwash, and he turns Kent forcefully, manhandling him until his back is pressed up against a wall and he’s being blanketed by Mashkov’s big body. It’s everything Kent loves, and he arches up into it.

At first Kent thinks they might just get each other off right there, next to the door to the bathroom — which is kind of hot — but just when he's starting to think that one of them should be on their knees, Mashkov tugs him away. There are two beds, and they fall onto the closest one a few seconds later.

They have an empty hotel room and nothing but time. Kent knows they don’t have to go fast, but when you only get to fuck once every few weeks or months, it’s hard to go slow.

He’s flat on his back trying to catch his breath before six.

*

“You want food?” Mashkov asks. He's up and moving around the room while Kent's still panting.

A damp washcloth _smacks_ down onto Kent’s chest a second later, and he grumbles as he sits up to use it, catching sight of several new purpling marks on his skin. “Fuck, didn’t you give me enough bruises yesterday?”

“You like,” Mashkov says absently, dropping into a chair and flipping through the room service menu. “Maybe breakfast? Breakfast all day.”

Kent hadn't necessarily planned on sticking around, but his stomach is definitely interested. “I’m not picky. I’ll eat anything when I’ve worked up an appetite.”

Mashkov glances up at him and smirks. “This is all it takes? Aces conditioning program so bad?”

“Asshole,” Kent mutters, chucking the washcloth in his general direction. It flops wetly to the floor between them. “I worked out before I came over here.”

“Me too,” Mashkov says. “Not see me about to die. Eggs? Pancakes? You want?”

“Do they have burgers?” Kent holds out his hand for the menu, and Mashkov tosses it onto the bed. Mashkov calls in their order, and Kent hides in the bathroom while room service delivers enough food to satisfy a small army. It must look suspicious, he thinks, because there's no way one man is going to eat that much. Oh well — Mashkov's personal reputation is squeaky-clean; a few prostitute rumors probably won't kill him.

When Kent emerges, he finds Mashkov propped up on the far bed, which it appears he's been sleeping in. Kent, after a moment of deliberation, shrugs, rolls up the bedding on the other, and drops it to the floor. He tucks into his trays of food with enthusiasm.

They eat with the TV set to ESPN. Kent has made his way through a few slices of pizza and half of a cheeseburger when he decides he can’t take it anymore. “Isn’t there anything else on?” he asks, sticking his thumb in his mouth to lick off the ketchup that’s escaping the bun. “It’s Christmas Eve. There’s gotta be a movie or something.”

Mashkov shrugs, bending to set an empty plate that had recently held a three-egg omelet on the floor. “Remote is on table. Change if you want.”

He tucks into a stack of pancakes while Kent starts channel surfing, barely pausing until he reaches Lifetime, which he celebrates with a satisfied, “yes!” It looks like they’ve only missed about fifteen minutes of whatever holiday movie is playing.

They only make it through the next five before Mashkov asks, “What is this?”

Kent consults the guide. “It looks like this one is… _The Flight Before Christmas_.”

“I not know it. You see before?”

“Nah, but look, it’s perfect! These two get stranded trying to fly home because of a snowstorm. Just like you, yeah?”

Mashkov is on to his third plate of food, and his expression caught somewhere between unimpressed and amused. “Doesn’t look so good.”

“Oh, fuck you,” Kent says without malice. “These sappy Christmas movies are, like… _tradition_. Don’t knock it ‘til you’ve tried it, anyway. Is that cinnamon roll French toast?”

He nods. “Extra icing.”

“Well, you have to let me try that,” Kent orders, sticking his hand out for the plate.

Mashkov shoots him a wicked side-eyed grin. “If you want, come over here and get.”

Kent flops dramatically back against the stack of pillows behind him. “Too full. Too comfortable. Pass it over here.”

“If so full, don’t need French toast,” Mashkov points out, cutting off another wedge with his fork. “Mmmm,” he says around the bite, “is so good.”

It looks really good, and Mashkov looks really good eating it, and Kent really, really wants to just cross the room already, but he’s nothing if not a stubborn little shit. “You really are an asshole.”

With one eyebrow raised, Mashkov sets the plate neatly aside on the nightstand. “Yeah? Asshole do this?” And before Kent can process exactly what’s happening, Mashkov is on his feet, easily scooping Kent up while upsetting his plate of fries, and Kent finds himself quickly deposited on Mashkov’s bed.

“Hey!” he shouts, but he’s laughing, and then Mashkov is right there, balancing the plate in his lap and pulling Kent into his side. He offers Kent the fork with his other hand.

“You want to try?” he prompts softly when Kent doesn’t take it.

Kent reaches slowly out to do so. He feels oddly dazed, like Mashkov had just checked him hard into the boards instead of tucking Kent into the curve of his body. They’ve fucked before, but they haven’t done — whatever this is. His arm is still wrapped around Kent’s shoulders. It feels… good. Nice. Comfortable if Kent could just relax into it.

He tries to distract himself by taking a bite of the French toast. It works, in that he’s so surprised at how delicious it is – sweet and rich without being cloying – that he lets out an involuntary noise of approval and releases some of the tension in his muscles. “That’s really good.”

Mashkov hums his agreement and takes the fork back to spear another mouthful. “Told you.”

“More?” Kent asks, reaching out, but Mashkov eludes him. Kent’s ready to do battle, but he realizes a moment later that Mashkov isn’t eating the next forkful himself — instead, he’s holding it out towards Kent expectantly.

Kent instantly goes awkward again, but he acquiesces, opening his mouth and accepting the bite, scraping it off the fork with lips and teeth. He doesn’t get all the icing though, and Mashkov sucks it off the tines, eyes locked on Kent’s the entire time and _oh_. Okay.

They clean the plate in much the same way, Mashkov alternating between eating the French toast himself and feeding it to Kent, and when the last of it is gone, he leans over to kiss Kent, his lips still sugary. Kent knocks the plate off his lap.

This time, they go slow.

*

Even so, they finish up before the movie does. Kent’s pliant now, tucked into Mashkov’s side, and he watches the protagonists, who have finally arrived home, pine for each other. He ponders the snowstorm, the canceled flights, the other Falconers. “Did everyone else get out okay?” he asks. Kent knows he's an asshole for even thinking about it, given where he is and who he's with and what they just did, but fuck it. He's thinking about it.

“Most, yeah. Some fly partway back, rent cars. Some going other places. Some stay here, move to nicer hotels.” Mashkov pauses. “If you are asking, Zimmboni is fine. Fly to Georgia. No snow there.”

 _Of course he did_ , Kent thinks, but only he says, “Good.” He finds that he means it more than he expected to.

Mashkov doesn’t seem upset, at any rate. He’s idly petting over Kent’s back, and he doesn’t stop. “You couldn’t fly home too?” he asks.

“Oh, no. I wasn’t planning on it. My family’s all traveling. I was going to stay here anyway.”

“I’m sorry.”

Kent shrugs against his chest. “Don’t be. Christmas is turning out pretty good so far anyway.”

He feels more than sees Mashkov’s smile. “What you do? If with your family?”

“Eat. Drink, probably too much. End up fighting, partially because we drank too much. You know, the usual.” He huffs out a sound like a laugh. “What about you? What would you be doing with your family?”

Mashkov chuckles. “Back home, Christmas in January. You know, right?”

Not for the first time, Kent marvels at how well his foot fits in his mouth. “Shit. No, I didn’t.”

“Is okay. And same as you, maybe. Eat and drink. Not see my family in many years. Usually am with friends for Christmas. Snowy’s family last year.”

Sympathetically, Kent echoes, “I’m sorry.”

“No sorry. Snowy’s family is best.” Kent snorts, and then Mashkov is jostling him around, moving until they’re face-to-face. “Was good Christmas. This one not so bad either.”

*

They miss the end of _The Flight Before Christmas_ , but flip to catch all of _The Twelve Dates of Christmas_ and _Merry Kissmas_ before tuning in to the start of the all-day _A Christmas Story_ marathon. They’re both asleep before the first showing ends, but catch the last half in the morning. Kent definitely hadn’t planned on spending the night, but he falls asleep comfortable and wakes up half-buried under a mountain of naked, muscular man, so he can’t complain.

Christmas Day passes much like its eve: they order more food and later champagne, watch more bad movies, shower together, get each other off in and out of it, and make bets — both ridiculous and sexual — on the day’s basketball games. At one point, Mashkov says to him, “I feel bad. Is Christmas and I not have present for you.”

“Don’t worry about that,” Kent replies. “What you gave me was plenty good.”

And they laugh.

Even though Kent leaves before the day is over — Mashkov flies out at the crack of dawn the next morning, and Kent needs to feed Kit — he has to admit it's the best Christmas he’s had in years.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Link to tumblr post [here](http://luckiedee.tumblr.com/post/154599990112/three-christmas-eves-patater-fic)! Feel free to stop by and say hi :)


	2. The Second One

When Kent wakes up on Christmas Eve morning, he’s got a man pressed up against his ass and a cat’s ass pressed up against the back of his head.

He can tell that the cat is the only one of them who’s actually still asleep, so he grumbles, “You know, Lyosha, she used to sleep on _my_ face.”

The arm around his waist tightens. “Still does when I am not here. Let me enjoy while I can.”

“You don’t even enjoy it,” Kent accuses, his voice both groggy and sulky. “You always say that her fur gets in your nose and makes it itch.” He knows he should be happy that his cat and his boyfriend get along so well, but it’s _Kit_. She’s seen Kent through some pretty rough times, and Kent loves her more than most people. The thing is — she’s supposed to love _Kent_ more than most people. And she does, but ever since Kent introduced her to Alyosha, she’s been making exceptions.

“Is true,” Alyosha says, “but it doesn’t mean I don’t enjoy.”

His voice is muffled because Kent’s cat is lying on _his_ face instead of Kent’s. Kent huffs.

“Don’t pout, _zvyozdochka_.” Alyosha moves like he’s trying to shuffle a little closer, but it’s hard with Kit smashed into the space between them. “Is Christmas Eve.”

“What time is it?” Kent asks, fumbling on the nightstand for his watch or his phone before Alyosha says anything in response. It’s not like he's going to be able to answer anyway, unless Kit has a digital display of which Kent is unaware. Kent squints at his phone and sees that it’s barely past seven. “Why are we awake before the alarm?” he groans. “We don’t have to be to the airport for hours.”

“Could pass time,” Alyosha murmurs, tucking his hips up closer behind Kent’s body, and okay, so he’s interested and they definitely have time, but…

“Not with Kit here,” Kent admonishes, scooting away.

Alyosha reaches out with one leg to hook an ankle over Kent’s, not letting him get too far. “I put her on floor,” he insists.

“No, she’s comfortable,” Kent argues. It _is_ kind of sweet that Kit loves to tuck herself in between them, but even as Kent’s thinking it, she makes an irritated sounding _mrrp_ and stands up. “Don’t make her move!”

“I do nothing.” Alyosha stretches and grabs Kent, pulling until Kent’s back is pressed all along his warm, bare chest. “She just want food.”

Kent knows it’s true, especially because she makes her way around to Kent’s side of the bed and starts batting at his head and making questioning chirping noises. Kent runs a hand over her back and scrubs his fingers into her fur to distract her. “Kit, I love you babe, but I can’t have scratches all over my face all the time. It looks fucking weird. I don’t know why you started doing this shit.” And _that’s_ a lie, because she started being obnoxious because Kent is so much harder to get out of bed when Alyosha’s there. It’s an effective strategy, and Kent starts moving to the edge of the bed despite Alyosha’s protests.

“Just let me feed her, and I’ll be right back. She’s only going to keep bugging us otherwise,” he points out as he disentangles himself.

Alyosha props himself up on one elbow and looks over at Kit. “You ruin my love life so much, _kotic_.” He sounds fond even through the complaint, and Kent knows that's an affectionate nickname, because Alyosha uses it interchangeably on them both. “Close the door when you come back, _da_? No interruptions?”

Kent grins at him wickedly. “If you’re lucky.”

He puts down fresh food for Kit in the kitchen, and even though he feels a little guilty about it, he all but slams the door as he rushes back to bed.

*

To each other, they’ve said that they’re “traveling together” for the holidays, but their loose interpretation of the words is an unfortunate necessity. Alyosha's personal life is still very much private, although he has shared a few choice details with some of his teammates. His friendship with Jack has suffered accordingly — just another thing for Kent to feel shitty about, he supposes.

In any case, later in the morning, they’ll head separately to the airport, fly on the same plane — but sitting nowhere near each other — to New York, where they’ll each pick up their own rental cars. Kent will drive to his mother and stepfather's house, and Alyosha will go straight to a hotel instead. Kent will pick him up later.

Kent had wanted Alyosha to fly directly from San Jose to New York, but he’d demurred. It's probably going to be enough to fuel the rumors if they’re spotted on the same airplane, and why would Alyosha have come to Las Vegas for an overnight anyway? It feels like they're playing with fire. But when Kent had voiced his concerns, Alyosha had just shrugged and said, “I make excuse if need to.”

So, that’s worrisome, but it’s not the only thing that’s bothering Kent. It’s not even the thing that’s bothering Kent the _most_. No, no, _that_ fucking thing has been eating Kent up inside for weeks, and he has to come clean… basically immediately. Because as hard as it’s going to be to say now, it’ll only be worse to spring it on Alyosha in New York.

With about half an hour to spare before they have to leave, Kent finally plucks up his courage, perches on the edge of the bed, and calls Alyosha over. “Sit,” he says. “I have to tell you something.”

Alyosha does. He’s in high spirits, grinning as he takes Kent’s hands in his own. Kent wants to warn him somehow: _you don’t get it, stop smiling, I'm a complete fuck-up and you're going to learn all about it_.

Kent takes a deep breath. “This is… it’s serious.”

 _That_ seems to get through to Alyosha, and concern flickers across his face. He tightens his grip on Kent’s hands. “What is it, _zvyozdochka_?”

It’s too much, and Kent finds himself looking at the wall over Alyosha’s shoulder, the carpet, the ceiling. “Okay, so I should have told you this, like… a long time ago. Or told _them_. But I didn’t, so I have to just… I didn’t tell them you were coming,” he blurts.

Alyosha’s forehead is creased. “What?”

Kent takes a deep breath and forces himself to explain more clearly. “I didn’t tell my mom and stepdad that you’re coming for Christmas. They don’t know about you. I haven’t told them I’m dating someone.”

The announcement is met with silence. When Kent can’t bear it anymore — which is only a few seconds later — he peeks up at Alyosha’s face. It’s serious, still, and he’s not looking at Kent anymore.

“Are you mad?” Kent asks.

Alyosha meets his eyes. “Yes.” He clamps his hands around Kent’s immediately when Kent tries to pull his back. “Yes, _zvyozdochka_ , mad but I am here. Not going away. But need you to explain.”

“I — it’s stupid.”

“Is not stupid if you are upset. But why are you not wanting to tell about me?”

Kent blinks at him. “That’s not — it’s not about you.”

“No? Seems like maybe you ashamed about date me.”

And okay, Kent can’t fucking have that. He’s never been so proud to be with someone, not ever. Proud isn’t even the word. He doesn't _have_ the right words because he's never been in a relationship like this before, not with someone who wants to be in it too, and he's fucking _astounded_ that he's managed to keep it going, even though he's holding onto it so tightly that it should break, shatter right there in his own hands. Not that he can actually put voice to any of that. “Lyoshenka, it's not that at all,” he says quietly.

“If not, then what? They not keep secret?”

Kent shakes his head. “No. They kept mine for years.”

Alyosha’s hands have gentled, and he’s stroking his thumbs over the backs of Kent’s. It’s soothing. “Then what? Please say.”

“Yeah, all right. But just — I warned you that it’s stupid, okay?” Alyosha starts to speak again, but Kent shoots him a warning look and continues. “I think I was just… I don’t know, afraid that this wouldn’t work out, or you’d think it was too serious or something — you know, meeting the parents. And then I’d have to tell them that you _weren’t_ coming. And that would be fucking humiliating.”

There’s a moment of silence before Alyosha speaks — he pauses, carefully watching Kent’s face, maybe making sure that Kent doesn’t have anything else to say, or maybe formulating a response. Maybe both. Finally, he nods. “This is a lot. Why do you think I not want to meet your parents? Is not too serious. Haven’t I been enough excited to meet them?”

“I _told you_. It’s _stupid_ , but I —”

“Ah,” Alyosha interrupts him. “No. Is not what I say. I tell you over and over again I can’t wait to meet family. Why you not believing?”

Kent huffs out a breath. “I believe you. I don’t know… I just thought maybe you’d change your mind.” He reconsiders that. “I was afraid you’d change your mind.”

Alyosha shakes his head. “My mind not change. And if I did, would talk to you. Just like we talk now. You believe me about this too?”

It’s Kent’s instinct to say _no_ , even though Alyosha's never been anything but honest with him, but he does know, deep down, that Alyosha's telling the truth. “I believe you,” he mutters.

“Good. Now, why afraid this will not work? Why humiliated?”

This is the worse part, the hard part, the part that scrapes right up against Kent’s raw nerves. He shrugs harshly. “I don’t know. I’m a total fuck-up when it comes to relationship shit; I can barely hold down a friendship, much less a boyfriend. I’ll do something to make you realize that, like I'm probably doing right now, and that’ll be that. And then I’d have to face my family and let them know what a loser I am while my sister shows up all fresh-faced and newly-engaged now that Kevin finally popped the question and… What?”

Alyosha’s got a smile creeping across his face, and dammit if he doesn’t look way more amused than he should. “Kenny, you think after all this time I don’t know best and worst? Of you? I see good and bad, a lot of both in last year.”

Kent lets his shoulders twitch up again.

“You make me mad before. Everything not perfect. But still together. Still here. And I not going anywhere.”

“Okay,” Kent says, without much enthusiasm behind it. He wishes he could make himself trust in the promises, but he knows that he's more than capable of doing something to ruin it all.

There’s a moment of quiet, and Kent can feel Alyosha looking at him, but he just stares down at his hands. “Maybe I give you present now?” Alyosha finally suggests. “Instead of tomorrow?”

Kent blinks at him in surprise and gives a half-hearted shrug. “Sure, if you want.” He should probably be more excited. The fact that his boyfriend still plans to give him a present is a good thing, right? And indicative of the fact that he wants to, despite all the apparent reasons why it isn’t a good idea, stay Kent’s boyfriend?

“I want,” Alyosha says. He smacks a kiss against the Kent’s temple and stands to pull a long, flat package out of his suitcase. It’s simply wrapped in green paper, and it looks like a jewelry box — one that would hold a necklace, not a ring. Or, alternately, a fancy pen, although Kent has no idea why Alyosha would get him one of those. Alyosha sits beside him again, hands him the present, and instructs him to, “open!”

Kent peels back the paper, balls it, and tosses it for Kit. She blinks at it impassively. “You’ll thank me for that later,” Kent tells her, and lifts the lid of the box. “Oh.”

It _is_ jewelry. A necklace, to be specific — a plain gold chain, nothing ostentatious. “Is like mine,” Alyosha says. “Only not as —” he waves his hands “— less big.”

“Okay,” Kent says again, slowly. He gives Alyosha a quizzical look.

Alyosha pauses, appears to gather his thoughts. “I know you like your dog tags.”

“My grandfather’s,” Kent interjects.

“Yours now,” Alyosha points out with a smile. “But I think — this is… like me. You can wear when you want to feel like I am close. No one will question. And you can wear under clothes. I know — I know secret is hard, makes hard for you. Feel like maybe I not want to be with you, like _I_ am ashamed. Is not you, _zvyozdochka_. Is never you.”

Kent feels almost dangerously emotional. He lifts the chain and lets it dangle over his fingers, willing himself not to do something stupid, like fucking cry. “No, Lyosha. You know I would never — shit, I would _never_ be upset because you’re not out. You do know that, right?”

“Kenny, of course,” Alyosha says, putting one hand on Kent’s leg and squeezing reassuringly. “But you still feel these things, _da_? It makes anxiety worse.”

“Yeah,” Kent admits reluctantly. He looks back down at the gold chain, finding he’s twisted it in his grip. “It does. I’m sorry.”

Alyosha draws a little closer, removing his hand from Kent’s knee and wrapping his arm around Kent’s back instead. “Is okay. Cannot change world so quickly. I wish could I be me, to everyone, no problems, no fear. I wish you not have to feel this way. But not real world, so we have to deal with. This is small thing —” he covers Kent’s hands and the chain with his own “— but maybe, can help?”

Well, now Kent’s going to fucking cry. He passes the necklace to Alyosha. “Help me put it on?” He turns and gives a few hard blinks to clear his eyes while Alyosha fastens the chain, then leans forward to press a kiss to back of Kent’s neck, his lips warm just above the clasp.

“You like?” he asks.

“I love it,” Kent says, and pivots back to kiss Alyosha, so hard that it elicits a surprised _oof_.

Alyosha returns it, lets it carry on for several long moments before he pulls away. “Come on, _zvyozdochka_. Need to go to airport. Have big surprise to get to! This can be fun.”

Kent sighs and tries to shake some of the tension out of his muscles as he stands. “So,” he says, trying to lighten the mood, “what’s this you said about yours being bigger than mine?”

It works: Alyosha laughs. “Isn’t it?”

*

Kent offers to call his mother from the airport. Alyosha says no.

To say his family is surprised is an understatement.

But they’re delighted too, and that’s what matters.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Link to tumblr post [here](http://luckiedee.tumblr.com/post/154599990112/three-christmas-eves-patater-fic)! Feel free to stop by and say hi :)


	3. The Third One

Christmas Eve is as good a time as any for a wedding.

Not Kent's.

However, he is one of the reasons that Dani and Kevin had decided on holiday nuptials. The break in the NHL’s schedule means that Kent has no reason not to attend — not that he’d skip out — and even better, it means that Alyosha can be there too. As his very public date. It’s been quite a year, one that Kent would never choose to go through again, but definitely wouldn’t change. Because the end result is this: he and Alyosha getting ready to walk down to the ceremony together, dressed to kill. Kent’s in charcoal gray and Alyosha’s in blue, and Kent wants to undress him with his teeth. Maybe he will later.

But first: surviving the fucking day.

Kent’s never brought a serious date to a family function. He can’t remember the last time he brought _any_ kind of date to a family function of this magnitude — because Dani's invited fucking everyone — and he’s on the verge of puking about it. Alyosha’s been cheerfully unconcerned all day, but Kent’s been growing progressively more tense and quiet from the time they’d woken up in their shared hotel room.

The wedding's taking place in New York, of course, and Kent longs more and more to be holed up with Alyosha in the Las Vegas house that's starting to feel more like _theirs_ than _his_. There are cards taped up all over the fridge that are addressed to both of them, even one from Jack and his little blond husband. (They're sitting in front of a tree, wearing reindeer antlers and hideously festive sweaters, and the husband is holding a pie decorated with festive lattice work. It's disgusting. Kent almost cried when they got it.) If they were home, he and Alyosha could be carrying on their proud tradition of watching made-for-TV holiday movies, but no. Instead, they're here.

He knows that Alyosha can tell he’s stressed, because he’s acting extra goofy and upbeat, but just as they’re leaving their room to walk down to the hall where the ceremony and reception will take place, Alyosha takes Kent’s hand and looks at him very seriously. “Is going to be okay, _zvyozdochka_. We go to wedding, have fun, _da_? All that matters. Why so scared?”

Kent huffs out a breath. “I’m not even sure. It’s just a lot of pressure, I guess. Never brought someone to something like this before.”

“And?” Alyosha prods.

“Some of them are gonna be pissed to see two dudes together,” Kent says, choosing the least of his concerns. Most of his family is cool, and even the ones that aren’t would never dream of disrupting Dani’s big day.

Alyosha shrugs. “Is nothing new.” He’s handled the pressures of coming out as bisexual as well as anyone could expect, but Kent still catches the hint of some darker emotion flicker across his features. “Is all?”

Kent looks down at the toes of his dress shoes. “What if they don’t like you?” He pauses, then rushes on before Alyosha can say anything: “Don’t fucking dignify that with a response. Of course they’ll like you. They’d be crazy not to. But… what if you don’t like them?”

There’s a firm pressure on Kent’s fingers, and Alyosha tugs on his hand until Kent trips forward and looks up at him. “This doesn’t matter, because I love you.”

He tugs Kent in. Kent accepts a kiss and grumbles, “That was cheesy.”

“Was not!” Alyosha insists. “Was truth. Is nothing your family will do that scare me away. Besides, how many people I not like?”

Kent snorts. “Uh, how about every player on every NHL team not called the Falconers? You weren’t too fond of me when we first met.” He steps away and starts back toward the elevators, keeping their fingers laced together. It’s fun to be able to do that now — he hasn’t enjoyed holding hands with someone so much since he was about thirteen years old.

Alyosha grins at him. “Is only on ice! I still not like you on ice — check you every chance I have. But off ice, is love.” He lifts Kent’s hand, kisses his knuckles. “Maybe I love everyone.”

“Pretty sure my uncle Mitch is going to test that theory,” Kent retorts, but Alyosha has a point. When he’s not wreaking havoc on the ice, he’s affable with… well, basically everyone. Kent finds that it’s actually reassuring, and he squeezes Alyosha’s hand as the elevator pings and the door slides open.

For some reason, Kent’s shocked when it isn’t empty, and that the people already inside are his relatives — his aunt Peg, who’s typing something on her cell phone, and his cousin Nick, who must be thirteen or fourteen now and looks… gangly.

“Oh, hi, Kenny,” Peg says, barely glancing up from the screen. “Good to see you.”

“Hey, Aunt Peg.” She’s not paying he or Alyosha any attention, but Kent sees the way that Nick’s eyes drop to their joined hands. It spurs him to say, almost rebelliously, “This is my boyfriend, Alexei.”

Peg looks up and gives Alyosha a quick smile, before a beep from her phone pulls her gaze back down. “Pleased to meet you, hon,” she says, and Kent wonders if she even heard him. “I should have never let your uncle head to the bar before the ceremony,” she mutters, tapping away again. “ _Just one drink_ , he said. He’s gonna be three sheets to the wind before your sister even walks down the aisle.”

Kent is surprised when Alyosha leans across him, stretching his free arm out in Nick’s direction. “You are?”

Nick stares warily at his hand for a few seconds, before taking it for a brief, nervous shake. “Nick.”

“My cousin,” Kent supplies, probably unnecessarily.

He figures that will be the end of it, but Alyosha apparently isn’t done. “Your tie,” he says, “I like, is great!”

Nick looks as surprised as Kent feels. The tie is fine, he thinks — Kent recognizes it as an homage to Iron Man, designed to look like the chest plate of his uniform. It’s not Kent’s brand of _great tie_ , but that’s fine. He can’t help but wonder if Alyosha is telling the truth. Nick looks similarly skeptical as he mutters, “Thanks.”

Alyosha beams at him. “I want to wear cool tie too, but Kenny say no.”

That’s a lie, but it makes Nick crack a smile, so Kent gives an offended “ _hey!_ ”

Peg shoots them both a conspiratorial grin as the elevator slides to a halt. “We’ll see you boys later,” she says, as they split off in different directions.

Kent swings Alyosha’s hand and starts walking toward the bride’s dressing room, to wish Dani luck before the ceremony. There are guests dotting the hall, and he tries not to care about them. “So, you’d rather be wearing a superhero tie, huh?”

“Nah,” Alyosha replies. “Better not give away secret identity.”

“Oh yeah?” Kent snorts. “What’s your superpower?”

Aloysha considers that. “Give best nicknames?”

“That’s not much of a superpower,” Kent points out, without malice. “What about vodka drinking? You’re good at that.”

With a dismissive hand wave, Alyosha says, “Is all of Russia. Not special.”

“Well then, what?”

They’re right outside the door now. They stop walking, and Alyosha leans in to murmur, “Best at make Kent Parson smile?”

Kent barks out a laugh. “That is the single fucking cheesiest thing you’ve ever said, and believe me, there’s some tough competition.”

Alyosha shrugs. “Maybe this is my super power. Maybe is both.” He nudges Kent’s arm. “Is work. You smile.”

“Oh my god,” Kent says, but it’s true: he is.

He knocks on the door.

*

The ceremony itself is quick. Kent doesn’t have a part in it, because it’s not religious so there are no readings or anything, and Dani and Kevin only have one attendant each, which Kent has to admit he doesn’t really _get_. He’d probably have the entire Aces roster stretching out behind him. It’s exactly what his sister wants, though, so it’s not like Kent can begrudge her for it.

When Kent processes back out through the rows of chairs, he can see pair after pair of eyes catch on him and on Alyosha, and he swears he hears whispering build up behind them. He puts on his media face, unaffected and pleasant, and ignores them. For now. It’s only a matter of time until they move on to the reception where everyone can descend on them.

In the meantime, he hugs his sister and shakes his new brother-in-law’s hand. The photographer snaps away, grouping them in a seemingly neverending stream of combinations: Kent takes pictures with Dani, with Dani and Kevin, with both of them and Kent’s mother and stepfather. Kent with his mother on their own, then with his stepfather added in. He even takes a few with Alyosha, tucked under his arm with their bodies angled in toward each other. Kent can’t wait to fucking see those. He and his boyfriend are looking fine as hell.

Finally, they’re released from their obligations, and they make their way into the crowd of assembled guests. Kent drags Alyosha immediately to the bar, because he is not facing this without a drink in his hand. Then, it begins.

They can’t exactly blend into the crowd: Alyosha automatically became the tallest man in the room when he walked into it. And most of the guests — the ones on Kent’s side of the family anyway — want to talk to one of two people: the bride, of course, and Kent himself, who almost never shows up to bigger events like this.

It makes Kent anxious, rough-edged, strained. He can handle a room full of donors or charm a group of fans without breaking a sweat, but something about this is different. He doesn’t even know why, not exactly. Maybe because it’s his family, and while he might or might not see a fan who stops him for an autograph again, he’ll be dealing with his relatives for years to come. Maybe it’s because Alyosha’s here, and it’s Kent’s first time introducing someone important to his family, and it’s a _boyfriend_ on top of that, and he wants _so, so_ badly for it to go well. He knows he’s not helping by being quiet and jittery, but he can’t seem to make himself do any better. He downs one drink quickly, but not two, because if he starts down that road, he’s not going to stop, and it’ll only make everything that much worse.

Surprisingly, or maybe not, Alyosha picks up all his slack.

He keeps one hand low on Kent’s back and fields all the obnoxious questions — easily, cheerfully. He makes people _laugh_. Kent’s a little bit in awe and a lot in love, and he feels himself start to relax in tiny increments.

 _How did you meet?_ they ask, as if it’s not obvious. But every time, Alysoha grins and answers with some version of, “On ice, where we are kicking his butt.” (Sadly, it’s true. The Aces hadn’t lost often during Kent’s rookie season, but their first meeting with the Falcs had ended with a sound and unexpected ass-whooping.)

 _So, how did you get together?_ Alyosha can’t exactly answer those questions truthfully, but somehow it still doesn’t feel like a lie when he says, “Kenny have huge crush on me. Flirt with me at friend’s wedding, at charity event. I only hold out so long.” Then it’s Kent’s turn to scoff fondly and roll his eyes, because he’s thawed out enough to do that much.

And everyone, everyone asks, _What is it like to play against each other when you're dating?_ At that, Alyosha grows serious for a moment. “Is hard sometimes,” he says, “but what happens on ice stays on ice. Like Vegas, _da_? And now I want Aces to win always, unless they play us.”

By dinner, Kent’s found his tongue enough to chime in, “It’s easier for me. I just want the Aces to win all the time,” and everyone at their table chuckles appreciatively.

Alyosha squeezes his knee under the table and they share a smile.

*

Later, after the dancing is in full swing, Kent realizes that it’s all actually going okay. Even though Kent would usually be eager to hit the floor, he’s content now to sit with with Alyosha, comfortable under the circle of his arm at a table that's been pushed aside to make room. He’s lounging against his big comfortable boyfriend, he’s had enough to drink but not too much, and his stomach is full of delicious, ridiculously overpriced food. Everyone’s happy, and no one is paying the slightest attention to them anymore. Dani and Kevin are grinning at each other like maniacs where they’re shimmying in the middle of a group of their friends, and Kent — he’s happy too.

It’s not something he’s used to feeling: not just happy, but happy in the pit of his stomach and the tips of his toes. Happiness both settled and effervescent. He’s more than a little scared of it, because it’s not something can possibly last forever, it’s always something he’ll lose, but he allows it for a moment — and like something out of one of their traditional fucking Hallmark holiday movies, the music changes to something slow, and Alyosha puts his mouth next to Kent’s ear. “Dance with me, _zvyozdochka_?”

Kent almost _laughs_ the whole thing is so cliche, but he stops the expression at a smile and says, “Yeah, okay.”

It's Nat King Cole's _The Christmas Song_ , because the DJ is mixing in holiday music for the occasion. Alyosha isn’t exactly Fred Astaire, and he just kind of wraps Kent up in his arms and sways him, but Kent’s okay with that. Being close feels good, and he presses his face into the warmth of Alyosha’s neck, the starchiness of his shirt collar, and allows himself to be swayed. Fuck whichever one of his weird family members may be watching, he thinks. Dance like no one is fucking watching, right? He lets the thought go, sags against Alyosha, and tries to just take his own advice.

“Winter wedding is nice,” Alyosha mumbles after a few moments. “Christmas colors, very pretty.”

Kent hums his assent. It’s true: it’s all twinkling lights and rich colors. Pretty.

“You like winter wedding one day?”

Kent scoffs. “Dani would flip if we got anywhere near her anniversary. Besides, there’s no way we’d be able to swing a wedding in the middle of the season,” he points out, the words hanging in the air before he even thinks about what they mean, and Kent stiffens in shock when the realization of what he just _said_ nearly bowls him over. He can’t even blame it on the alcohol — he hasn’t had _that_ much.

Alyosha must notice the way Kent goes rigid in his arms, but he barely reacts. “Probably right,” he muses. “Summer then. Maybe go back to Hawaii.”

Kent has to pull away then, far enough to be able to see Alyosha’s face. He looks back at Kent with a fond, unconcerned smile. “Lyoshenka,” Kent says, low and hoarse, “did you just…?”

He blinks down at Kent and laughs. He _laughs_. “No, _kotic_ , no. You think I propose like this? You know me at all?”

It’s a good point. If Alyosha was going to propose, he’d plan some gesture, either ridiculous or romantic. At the very least, Kent wouldn’t have to guess if it had happened. “No, I know. We’ve just… never talked about this before.”

Alyosha’s still smiling. “No time like present.” When Kent keeps gaping at him wordlessly, he adds, “You not want? Someday?” For the first time, something like doubt creeps into his expression.

Which is completely unacceptable. Kent presses himself back in against Alyosha’s chest; starts them dancing again. As much as he means what he’s about to say, he thinks it will be easier to get out while he feels safe and anchored. “Yeah, I’d like that. Someday.”

The song is wrapping up, but before it does, Alyosha tightens his arms around Kent’s body and whispers, “Merry Christmas, _kotic_. Love you.”

Kent’s learned enough to respond: “ _Ya tozhe tebya lyublyu_.”

*

Alyosha doesn’t even wait two months to propose. They do go back to Hawaii for the wedding.

The next Christmas is their first one as husbands.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:
> 
>  _Zvyozdochka_ = little star  
>  _Kotic_ = pussycat  
>  _Ya tozhe tebya lyublyu_ = I love you too
> 
> (If I've terribly messed any of these up, feel free to let me know!)

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! If you'd like to reblog on Tumblr, I made a post [here](http://luckiedee.tumblr.com/post/154599990112/three-christmas-eves-patater-fic). And of course, please feel free to come by and say hi [here](http://luckiedee.tumblr.com/). :) Happy holidays!


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